


catharsis

by Here_There_Be_Kinks



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Crying, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Off-Screen Negotiation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29994372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Here_There_Be_Kinks/pseuds/Here_There_Be_Kinks
Summary: “What?” Tim interrupts. “What? You don’twantthis?” He squeezes his hip. “You’re standing right there, begging for it. You’vebeenbegging for it,” he adds, lowering his voice. “All goddamn night.”ie Tim and Martin's scene ends differently than intended - aka with tears. it ends with tears
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> as stated in the tags: this is consensual non-consent, and "stop" is not the previously (off-screen) agreed upon safeword for them

Martin’s trembling. Tim can feel it, shaky limbs beneath his hands as he holds Martin in place; gripping his hip and pressed hard into the small of his back, and Martin’s trembling beneath that careless placement, breathing hard from where he’s pressed against the wall. And God is that good. Tim’s missed a position of power, missed– missed anything, anything that makes him feel more alive than he is, more passionate than he’s been able to feel in years.

But hey. They don’t talk about that. It’s much easier not to, and this way Tim gets to wholly enjoy feeling Martin tremble beneath his hands, listen to the whining, pathetic gasps he lets out into the air. In the other room, the TV’s still on from where Tim had left it, some terrible mockumentary that he can just about hear. He shouldn’t be able to hear it, though, so he presses his fingers harder into Martin’s back, determined, hears Martin’s half warning and hears rather than sees the _thud_ of Martin’s arms giving way, and his temple thunking against the wall instead. A hollow sound, followed by a gasp and a whine, and Martin sounding distinctly tearful when he begs out, 

“Tim, _stop.”_

He doesn’t. “Stop what?” Martin’s all tight around him, clenched down on him like he was made to take cock… something Tim might have mentioned just once or twice already tonight. It’s easy to rock into him in just the way that gets Martin moaning, squirming, chewed nails scraping the wallpaper as he scrabbles for purchase to, what, get away? Ha.

“Let _go,”_ Martin retorts, and if he wants to sound determined and fiery and dominant, he doesn’t, because his voice breaks, and his hands just slide uselessly down the wall again. “I don’t–”

“What?” Tim interrupts. “What? You don’t _want_ this?” He squeezes his hip. “You’re standing right there, begging for it. You’ve _been_ begging for it,” he adds, lowering his voice. “All goddamn night. When I was making dinner. When you were washing dishes, squirming all over the place like a needy little bitch–”

“No,” Martin says, again, and Tim _laughs_ against his hair.

“Listen, Martin, I _know_ a little about it,” he says, conversationally, like he isn’t fucking Martin within an inch of his life and three feet of the bed. “I’m a Grade A fuck. I know when someone wants my prick. And with all those glances you kept throwing me–”

“I wasn’t looking at _you,_ you just were in the way of the telly–” Martin starts, but he’s breathless before Tim fucks into him harder, and he’s even moreso afterwards. His voice breaks. “Tim, _please,_ don’t– not, not like this–”

“You _wanted_ this, Martin. You still do.”

“No, I want– in bed– or, or– ngh–– _tonight,”_ Martin chokes out, even as he arches back into Tim and wiggles even more frantically. “I wanted– _that–_ later, when we could–”

“When we could…?” Tim prompts him, dutiful.

“… make love,” Martin whispers, and Tim laughs out loud. Martin squirms and scrabbles and writhes like he’s embarrassed, like he wants to get away, and isn’t that just _cute?_ he thinks, and holds on tighter.

“Right,” he says, all the amusement alight in his veins. He nuzzles Martin’s hair, and leans into his neck. “Why would I wanna do that?” he asks, and bites.

Martin practically _convulses,_ then, jerking and squeezing and coming almost instantly. And honestly Tim’s not that far behind, already hot and aching and worked up well before he’d ambushed Martin out of the shower, all warm naked skin and quick-to-drop protests. Martin finishes before he does, going all boneless and limp on him, but Tim holds him in place until he’s done, too, and _then,_ finally then, helps to ease Martin’s passage to the ground when his legs fold uselessly beneath him.

He’s still gasping, and Tim’s a bit out of breath himself. He just about manages to fix his clothes before he falls back on his arse, sucking in a _big_ lungful of air. His hands are a little cramped from holding onto Martin that way. There’ll definitely be bruises tomorrow, he knows for sure. “Well!” Ooh, he’s definitely a bit breathless. It almost makes him laugh, and then it does anyway. He steadies himself, and then reaches out to Martin, still turned away to the wall. “That was–”

Martin’s breath rises in a sob, and Tim freezes with his hand still outstretched, suddenly unsure. And then _terrified,_ when he realizes Martin’s crying, and while that’s not necessarily something new– Martin’s like that, Martin’s a crier when it comes to all things– the tiny hitching breaths that have been _tears_ have now turned to full-on sobs. And he knows he shouldn’t be worried, he _knows;_ they’d talked about this extensively before playing out the scene, and God knew this wasn’t the first kinky thing he’d done, not even the first with Martin, and he hadn’t said anything that had triggered a need for them to stop. 

But he was frozen there, suddenly so _unsure_ like with so many other goddamn things in his life now, and if he’d– no. _No._ He curls his fingers back into his palm. Retracts his hands and folds them in his lap. He doesn’t touch Martin, but he tries not to jump to conclusions. Even though a large part of his mind already has, for no good reason other than a different reaction and the fact that everything in their lives was so _fucked up_ as it was– 

“Martin,” he says gently, aiming for his best calm. “It’s okay. You’re alright.” He doesn’t ask if he’s okay. He knows he can’t answer a question like that, not right this second. “You can take as long as you need to.”

He wants to kiss him, draw him into his arms and tell him he’s lovely, he’s had a great time, he adores him and, _normally,_ with a little bit of Martin weeping, that’s exactly what Tim does. But right now he’s just… Martin doesn’t… usually pull away like that, curled into the wall, face hidden. And the sobbing. Christ. He’s a mess. They’re both a mess.

His hands are shaking a little, now.

“I’m just gonna sit here,” he continues softly. “And you can just– you can let it out. And if you need me, I’m here. Okay?”

Martin doesn’t reply, but then, Tim hadn’t really expected him to.

He’s just going to– wait. And let Martin cry. Let him feel whatever he’s feeling, and _then_ they’ll talk. Jesus.

Waiting is always the worst thing. Always waiting. For the inevitable, for the other shoe to drop these days. And now this, with Martin, a different kind of agony than the one they’ve been used to from work. He hates it. But he won’t push. Not right now. So he’s just left sitting there, hands in his lap, unhappy and drained and more than a little preemptively guilty. Fucking hell.

Martin, predictably, _apologizes_ when he catches his breath. “Sorry– Tim,” he gasps, finally scrubbing at his face enough to turn towards him, a bit. “God, I’m–” He shudders and sniffles, but is making a really good faith effort at getting himself back under control, so Tim decides to try a little cautious optimism back on, and asks,

“can I touch you?” He raises his hand again, tentative.

Martin nods. That’s enthusiastic, at least. So Tim does, touching his fingertips to Martin’s shoulder, and then curling his hand around it when Martin leans back into the pressure.

“’m sorry,” Martin repeats again, and something in his voice sounds _sincere_ enough that something in Tim breaks, and he lurches forward to wrap both his arms around him. “I didn’t mean to do that– I, I– Christ, I just– I don’t know what came over me–” He’s babbling, but he presses back into Tim, holding onto him. He’s still shaking, but it’s… encouraging, all of this. Maybe.

He isn’t pulling away, isn’t demanding space and time. So yes, it is encouraging, if even only mildly. Tim puffs out a short, relieved breath, and turns his face into his hair. “You’re alright?”

Martin nods, a quick, jerking bob of his head that tickles Tim’s nose. “Yes, I’m– I’m–” Another tearful, wet-sounding noise, and Martin swallows hard before Tim can ask. “No, I’m _really_ okay. Um, I– I haven’t– Jesus, get it together,” he mutters, under his breath, to himself. “I– I haven’t asked anyone… I’ve never… I’ve never trusted anyone,” he blurts, all of a sudden, and Tim freezes a bit again. “Like– like that,” Martin continues, even as his voice breaks again. “I haven’t felt safe in _ages,_ how can we feel safe– like this? With _everything?_ But I– I really… _did.”_

Oh. _Oh?_

“I _know_ it’s not conventional, I _know–_ and it’s not even _good,_ it’s not a good– coping mechanism, not– not just for _this,_ not just because of how _shit_ our lives are at the archives, it’s actually _terrible_ and not mine to claim, but I– Christ, you said all that stuff but _I_ still felt like– I was actually in _control_ of something for the first time in ages–”

Oh. Okay. _Yeah._

“– and I _know_ I cry when I get subby, anyway, a lot,” Martin was saying, “but I didn’t expect _that_ and I didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry, but I definitely really, _really_ needed that–”

Oh shit. Now Tim thought he might be going to cry, too. And he could _not_ start crying now, because they couldn’t have a case of raging sub drop _and_ dom drop all at once, they just couldn’t, and honestly? If he got started, he didn’t know if he’d stop. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t in so long. But his eyes were stinging, and he had to bury his face further into Martin’s hair, just in case.

“Well,” he managed. “I’m so glad.” It came out so thin, fuck. He squeezed his arms around him to make up for it. He was glad. Achingly so, feeling in the center of his chest in ways that didn’t just come with a quick fuck, and that was a little terrifying, too. “Thank you for trusting me.” It was such a hard-won thing, these days. Such a beautiful, delicate thing.

… but Christ, they were _really_ having a moment, weren’t they? It was so pathetic that Tim might have wanted to _laugh,_ which, you know what, he did, a bit, still muffled by Martin’s hair. He thought he maybe finally trusted himself enough to pull back and look Martin in the face. “Christ, we’re just a bucket of feelings today, aren’t we,” he joked, weakly– it was true– and then leaned in to kiss him.

It was nice. It was… it was better than.

Martin made a noise in the affirmative against his mouth, and then they just kissed, long and slow, until they had to break away to breathe. Tim rest his forehead against Martin’s, and closed his eyes again.

“… we should do that again, sometime,” he said softly. Tentative. Hopeful. Maybe that.

Martin agreed, nodding his consent, pressing closer like he didn’t want to let go. Tim got it. He did.

“We should.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tim, s3 Tim, so angry and bitter, doing this maybe not for the best reasons but because it feels good dammit, not realizing he no longer sees Martin as just a workplace fuck but as someone he's fallen in love with, terrified he's broken him too when he starts crying after the scene, Martin's the only thing NOT broken by their archives situation and now this, now this, and he's just frozen through at the thought he's taken the one thing that's constant and nice and good and made him break. but no, it's a GOOD thing. Martin's already broken too, he has been, he just never trusts anyone enough to let on that his optimism is fake, he can't, until now, until Tim takes him so far out of his head that he feels all of that crumble and feels all of himself be seen in a way that isn't entirely fucked up, and it's such a RELIEF in the moment all he can do is cry
> 
> _anyway_ I wanted to write shippy dubcon/cnc with the dom getting really worried if it was okay, if the sub is alright, etc, and then I got prompted for cnc in general so this was the perfect excuse to kill two birds with one stone, I have many emotions about this fic


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